Dreaming of happiness in the silence of a dawn.
Upcoming day was promising disassociation
In the prose of routine.

This time the limerence was brief,
Yet bittersweet and desperate.
The chimerical metamorphosis missed just a little.
You almost became a fragment of wire with dead butterflies on it.
The voice of hope was weak and subordinate,
But still, it whispered.
Pleasure and pain were only a breath apart.

Candles have been burned while the song faded.
And while feelings lingered in a morning fog
A new day was rising over the horizon.